


Keserédes

by damnedapostate (ethydium)



Series: Concerning werewolves [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Blood and Injury, Fenders Eve 2017, Halloween Special, Happy Ending, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No Smut, Panic Attacks, Recovery, Suicidal Thoughts, just bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 11:58:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12506892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ethydium/pseuds/damnedapostate
Summary: The ritual had failed, and now Fenris is without lyrium and hope. But he gets another chance.Written for "Fenders Eve 2017"





	Keserédes

**Author's Note:**

> This starts out dark, but I won't get into too explicit details of injury. And there's more focus on COMFORT than the hurt.

Fenris was dying. He knew this with absolute certainty. Even though his mind felt like cotton inside.

He remembered nothing but the searing, white hot pain; Master Danarius’ face hovering above his, then feverish nightmares filled with his own screams.

And now, he was laying on cold stone, where discarded bodies of slaves were thrown, ready for the cleaners to grab and burn them. Fenris knew that this was going to happen, even if he didn’t remember how.

Every part of his body was alight with terrible pain. He wished to die… Willed his heart to stop beating, so he could finally leave this sorry body behind.

Even the Void seemed a better place than this.

His throat was dry, while the rest of his body was moist with sweat and blood.

 _Did he fail his Master?_ What crime was big enough to warrant such punishment, he wondered.

All he knew that the agony was unbearable and all-consuming.

Then he heard some noise, and wished… _wished_ so hard that his head hurt from the effort that the source of that noise would help him.

 

 _Clip, clip_ , nails knocked on the stone, and Fenris saw movement from the corner of his eyes.

He suddenly realised no men could make such a sound, and that it must be caused by an animal.

The thought of getting eaten alive didn't seem like an improvement to him, but made him wonder. What kind of animal was that? Maybe another escaped beast from a magister’s laboratory?

 

The noise came closer, and now it paired with the sound of sniffing. Fenris managed to turn his head, and couldn't muffle the pained sound that escaped him.

It wasn't just an animal. It was a huge wolf whose fur seemed burnt copper in the lanterns’ flickering light.

Fenris was convinced he's going to get torn to shreds.

The animal stepped closer, sniffing the ground. Fenris’ breathing hitched, and he felt his bladder empty in shock. The wolf came slowly closer, sniffing at his neck and face.

Fenris’ mind reached its limit. He felt his conscious break under the stress, and tears welled in his eyes. He mourned the life he didn't remember having and the life he wouldn't get to live.

“It hurts so much,” he sobbed, turning his head away. “Just make it quick,” he murmured weakly.

He felt a wet nose press against his neck, almost like feeling his pulse. Then a tongue darted out and lapped at his tears.

_Do you want to die?_

He swore he actually heard the voice. His breathing hitched, before he could answer. Did he? Did he really want to die?

He felt a ghost of a memory surface in his mind. Not a full one, just lingering feeling of desperation and need for something he couldn't name.

“No,” he moaned. “I… I want to live.” but then another though came to him. “But not as a slave.”

 _You will never ever be a slave_ , the voice promises him, and for a moment Fenris thought he had just made a deal with a demon, but then pain blossomed in his shoulder, erasing any lingering doubts.

*

Fenris opened his eyes, and saw a low ceiling, and smelled food. Delicious food that made him salivate like a dog.

“You're awake,” came a voice from his right.

Fenris slowly turned towards him, and saw… a man. A tall man with hair glinting copper in the sunlight.

Why did it feel weird to look at him?

“My name is Anders,” he continued, coming up to his bed, and sitting on a nearby chair. “How do you feel?”

“Hungry,” Fenris growled, because the feeling became unbearably urgent.

“Good,” Anders grinned at him. “That's a good sign. There's breakfast in the kitchen, we'll eat soon. But first… May I look at you properly?”

Fenris’ eyes darted around, looking at the source of angry growling. It took him a moment to realise it was him.

“Food first,” he demanded, and Anders sighed.

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged, and stood. “Follow me, please.”

Fenris started rising, and was surprised to find himself sitting. It felt… weird, but in a pleasant way. He looked at his hands, and saw thin scars running along his skin.

_When did he got these?_

Anders waited for him patiently, hovering close, and Fenris raised his chin in challenge.

“I'm not an invalid,” he said with conviction.

“Never said you were,” Anders said with an amused smirk. “Come, the food is going to get cold.”

The kitchen was a small thing, but smelled like food and herbs.

Anders sat on one chair, and Fenris on the other. The plates were already there, and there was a bowl filled with warm stew, and a loaf of bread.

“Help yourself,” Anders said and Fenris obeyed this instruction happily. He ate more than he thought was possible, but Anders didn't mind. He ate with the same abandon.

*

Anders poured some tea and offered the mug to him.

“What do you remember?”

Fenris looked up at him, marvelling at the amber colour of his eyes. It was a very rare eye colour in Tevinter.

He spaced out, Anders coughed once, politely, to call his attention back.

“Pain,” Fenris said. “Pain… and darkness.”

“You never told me your name.” Anders mused, resting his elbows on the table. As he leaned closer, Fenris realised one of the good smells came from him. Clean like fresh linen and… something akin to pine. Fenris couldn’t really pinpoint it.

“Fenris,” he admitted after a moment of hesitation.

“Fenris… I found you in a body dump. Do you remember getting there?”

Memories of pain and humiliation rushes back to Fenris.

“Yes,” he murmured. Now the scars made sense. “But I don't remember getting _here_.”

“I brought you, after you passed out. We're just outside of the city. I plan to sail to the Free Marches in a month.”

Fenris glared at Anders, not trying to mask his mistrust.

“Why did you bring me here?” he asked coldly.  

“You were injured and in need of medical attention. This is a safe place for you to heal.”

“So you think you can save me?” He stood suddenly, worry making him reckless. “Put me back together, and then in gratitude I’ll throw myself at your feet? I don’t need your lies. What do you want with me?”

“I plan nothing _with_ you. You're welcome to come with me, but I won’t pressure you into it.”

“Then I can leave now, right?” He turned to look around, but Anders put his hands heavily on the table.

“Absolutely not!”

“Why?” he demanded angrily, not stepping down. Anders stood too, and glared at Fenris impatiently.

“You're not ready. You've only awakened an hour ago! Please, see reason,” he asked in a pleading voice, raising his arms towards Fenris.

Fenris jumped back, not risking being struck by him.

“You have no right to keep me here!”

Anders growled, and crossed his arms, clearly on the end of his patience.

“Why do you think I brought you here?”

“How should I know?” Fenris felt cornered in the small kitchen, desperate for a way out. If only he had a weapon…

Anders huffed, then stepped to the side and pulled a drawer out to rummage in it.

“He doesn’t know, why should he know…” he growled under his breath, and Fenris stopped looking for a way out.

Anders took a mirror out, and raised it up towards Fenris.

“Look!” Fenris frowned, but did as he was told. At first, he stared at his reflection with confusion.

He didn’t remember his own face. But what he saw in the mirror looked entirely normal. An angrily furrowed brow, green eyes, straight nose, scarred chin. He huffed, turning first to the left, then to the right. White hair fell into his face, and he swiped it away.

Nothing seemed amiss.

“What am I…” He suddenly fell silent. When he opened his mouth, his teeth… they looked bigger and sharper than they should have.

The memory flashed between his eyes. The wolf towering over him, the excruciating pain in his shoulder as the huge jaw mauled him.

His knees went weak, but Anders was prepared to catch him. Fenris felt gentle hands push him towards the chair, rubbing calming circles between his shoulder blades. Panic washed over him, and he felt a sob escape, but Anders was there, hugging him close. A warm, solid chest shielding him from overwhelming fear.

“It’s okay, I got you, Fenris. Let it all out, it’s alright, I’m here with you,” Anders murmured into his hair. Fenris felt the calmness seep into his bones, and he buried his face into Anders’ neck. Somehow the gesture felt natural, and not in any way sexual.

“What happened to me?” he asked in raspy voice. Anders sighed heavily, but didn’t let him go.

“You were dying, and I… I couldn’t leave you suffering. I would have killed you, if you so desired, but…”

“I told you I wanted to live.” Fenris finished the sentence, because Anders seemed unable to. “You… bit me.” The arms tightened around him, hugging him even closer. “What did you do?” he asked calmly.

Anders pulled away, and looked at him straight in the eye.

“I turned you into one of us, as I was turned before.”

“One of… you,” Fenris murmured, weighing the words on his tongue. “What are we?”

“Werewolves, Fenris.” Fenris nodded, the truth setting in his bones like ice.

“Werewolves,” he repeated. “Monsters then,” he snarled, but Anders interrupted hastily.

“No, no, never!” Anders objected, shaking his head furiously. “We are shapeshifters, but… a little more.”

Fenris felt hope swell in his heart.

“I’d be glad to tell you everything, but I really need to check your vitals,” he said with determination, Fenris only ever saw in healers. Even if he couldn’t recall meeting any, he was sure Anders was also one.

“Alright, what do you need me to do?”

Anders smiled at him, approving of the trust he showed him, and led him back into the main room.

“Sit on the bed, please,” he asked formally, and Fenris did so. “I’m going to use magic.”

“Magic?” Fenris voice had a panicky undertone. “You’re a magister?”

“Maker, no! I’m a mage, yes, but I’m not a magister.”

“An altus, then,” murmured Fenris with resignation. He got out of the claws of one mage to get into somebody else’s.

“No, I’m simply a mage. I hold no position in Tevinter. And I’d never use blood magic. I’m a spirit healer!”

Fenris shrugged. The explanation meant nothing to him, but calmed him down. He felt that Anders’ words rang true. It was weird, but he really did.

“Alright, you may proceed.”

“Thank you,” Anders said gently.

*

Anders was considerate throughout the whole ordeal – he took his pulse and made a diagnosis with a spell.

“If this scarring is recent enough, I think you’ll be able to heal properly. Your hair is irreversibly white, but that’s not so _bad_.”

Fenris huffed, thankful for his attempt at joking.

“What about the bite mark?” He said, peering on his shoulder. Anders gently swiped his thumb over it, and shrugged.

“Does it feel weird? Any tenderness?”

“No, it feels… normal,” he mused, wondering what a not normal werewolf bite felt like.

“It’s going to fade a little, but won’t disappear completely. Mine didn’t.” Anders pulled the hem of his shirt, revealing his own mark.

Fenris shifted closer, curious about Anders’ skin.

“May I?” He asked carefully, and Anders nodded.

“Sure, I don’t mind,” he murmured.

Fenris traced the mark with his index finger, noticing the goose bumps appearing on the mage’s skin.  

“How did this happen to you?” He asked softly, but Anders went rigid at his question nonetheless. “You don’t have to… if you don’t want to,” he felt himself say. Why did he feel such compassion towards this mage?

“I’ll tell you, but… last question. How do you feel? Any nausea or dizziness? Headache or any aching in other parts?”

Fenris looked down at his hands, and squared his shoulders. His body felt tired, even exhausted, but there was no discomfort anywhere.

“None,” he said briefly.

“Any weird… thoughts or feelings?” Fenris blinked at that. “I was told you could feel a little… murderous or even… amorous after the bite.”

Fenris opened his mouth to say no, but stalled. He didn’t feel amorous, but… now that Anders mentioned it, he needed…

“What we did in the kitchen,” he started awkwardly, but Anders patiently listened to him. “That felt nice.” Anders face lit up, like a lantern in Satinalia.

_What even was Satinalia?_

“We could cuddle again,” he said with a questioning tone.

“Cuddle,” Fenris deadpanned, but he felt his ears heating up. “Alright.” He scooted back on the bed, and pulled at the covers.

Anders joined him on the soft bed, helping him burrow under the blankets properly.

“You smell nice,” Fenris said suddenly, and Anders chuckled, while puffing up his pillow.

“You do too. Mahariel said it was part instinct,” he explained as he laid down.

His nose seemed ridiculously big from this angle, so Fenris had to move his face closer and bump into it with his nose. This made Anders chuckle, and he pulled Fenris closer.

“Who is this Mahariel?” asked Fenris, willing the jealousy to disappear from his voice.

“Mahariel turned me. She said she had been a Dalish hunter who found a creepy mirror in a cave. I didn’t ask,” he admitted with a soft half laugh. “I was too relieved to dwell on the past.”

“What happened to you, Anders?”

“I was a mage in the Circle of Ferelden. The Circles outside of Tevinter are… vastly different. They aren’t nice places.” His voice cracked a little, and Fenris nuzzled his head close to Anders’ throat. “I escaped, but the Templars found me, dragged me in a cave, and… Mahariel saved me. Both from the templars and my previous life. She turned me, giving me a new chance.”

“As you did to me now.”

“Fenris, I…” He gently tilted Fenris head up to look into his eyes. “You’re no way indebted to me.”

“I know that, _mage_ ,” Fenris drawled. Secretly, he was glad Anders pointed this out.

“Mage, huh?” Anders huffed. “I _like_ how you say that.”

Fenris coughed, hoping to hide his embarrassment, nuzzling back into Anders’ shoulder. He tried to muffle a yawn, but Anders noticed it.

“Do you want to nap?”

“Later,” he murmured. “Tell me more about being a werewolf.”

“The most important thing is to avoid silver at all cost. It burns your flesh to the bone. It’s uncomfortable to not change during a full moon, but manageable after the first few months.”

“Does it hurt to change?”

“It does the first time,” Anders admitted. “But you get the hang of it.” The promise of it warmed Fenris heart.

“Do we need to kill?”

“Nah, but I started to prefer my meat a little rare.”

This made Fenris chuckle.

“Will you help me learn to change?”

“Yes, the next full moon is close. We have time to prepare.”

Fenris hummed, shifting his body to be both comfortable and as close to Andes as possible.

“Rest now,” murmured Anders. “We’ll talk more later.”

Fenris agreed that sleep would be welcome. He had almost fallen asleep, when he felt Anders shift away.

“No,” he said softly, opening one eye. “Please?”

Anders blinked at him rapidly, then made an affirmative noise, and rolled back to his position.

“I can stay,” he offered, and let Fenris snuggle up to him.

“Good,” murmured Fenris, and smiled what felt like the first time. “Good.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm kinda obsessed with werewolves and shapeshifters, and I'd like to add more to this series. Let me know if you loved this story, my dudes!


End file.
